So Polly had her flowers after all, and she dressed the pie gayly with them.—Page [20].
So Polly had her flowers after all, and she dressed the pie gayly with them, stifling a sigh as she put them over the old goose; and they laughed and ate, to be sure, not so much as if tender chicken had been on their plates. However, it turned out better than they had expected, Polly having persistently boiled it before it was cut up to be baked in the pie. And so they hurried over that part of the repast; they were all in such a hurry to get to that elegant pudding. That was just magnificent, and done to a turn; and to Joel’s great delight, fairly beaded with plums. Wasn’t it splendid, though!
But at last the feast was all over, and they finally pushed back their chairs, leaving the biggest part of the goose pie untouched.
“Now,” said Phronsie, “where’s my wissbone, Polly? I want my wissbone, I do.”
“Oh, darling,” cried Polly, catching her up from the high-chair, “you’ll have to wait for next Thanksgiving for that. ’Tisn’t our fault you can’t have it, Phronsie; the black chicken ran away with it.”
II
PHRONSIE’S NEW SHOES
POLLY was working hard to make the fire burn. Something was the matter with the old stove that morning. There had been a big crack for some time at the back that let in the air alarmingly; but Ben had stuffed this up with putty the week before, and it had done very well; but just as Polly had washed up the breakfast dishes this morning, and was going to put her pans of bread into the oven, out tumbled the putty, the old black stove grew cold, and everything came to a standstill. The truth was, the poor old stove was about worn out.
“O dear!” said Polly, “now what’s going to be done! Why couldn’t it have waited, and Ben’s away, too!”
She flew around for something to stop up the hole with; she couldn’t find any putty, of course, but nothing else appeared. So she got down on the floor before it and rattled the dampers, and put in more wood. She was kneeling in front of it, her face very red with her exertions, and trying to push a refractory smouldering log of wood into a more “burnable” position, when Phronsie emerged from the bedroom with a very injured expression. “Oh, Polly, I’m so hungry!”